Say Something
by violetfireflies
Summary: A side story to Caught Clueless told in Gill's POV, 6 years prior to the main story line. Gill and Chase have a chance encounter in the city. While Chase makes it clear he isn't interested in catching up, it's obvious to Gill that he's made more than a few bad decisions. Why couldn't he just let it go? It would've been easier. But it also would've haunted him forever.
1. I Don't Need Your Concern

_A/N: I usually don't put notes at the beginning but I have to for this one. This is a side story to my main fic, Caught Clueless. There are some spoilers for the main story up to chapter 20, so if you haven't read it and you plan to… maybe you should wait. Or read it anyway and enjoy the hurt/comfort (cough angst cough) and friendship? I don't know, it's up to you. \o/ Without further ado… please enjoy. *backs away into the shadows*_

* * *

_Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don't._

OoOoOoOo

It was raining, and as I walked down 3rd Street my clothes became soaked. The bottoms of my pants were wet from the many times I had come across a puddle and failed to dodge it. This was my fault, since I spent too long at the library and left just after it became dark. I was distracted.

Lately, I'd been feeling unsatisfied. The thought that I would die an early death was not new. Always, in the back of my mind, I suspected I wouldn't live past fifty. My mother passed away from an illness obscure in the medical books. Who could know with affirmation that it wasn't genetic? Furthermore, I wasn't well as a child; I always seemed to have a cold or something similar. But the thought that I would die without doing anything important frightened me. It left me with a discontented feeling nearly akin to panic.

Of course, these speculations were possibly baseless from a medical standpoint. There was no evidence of anything. I was deemed healthy at age nine, any nagging problems having been cleared up by natural means. At least, that's what I had thought. Recently I'd been feeling faint and plagued with headaches. A visit to the hospital revealed that l suffered from migraines, but it was nothing to be overly concerned about. Still, it triggered these disheartening thoughts.

I hadn't done anything worth noting as part of history. That would've been fine if I was nobody. But whether I liked it or not, I was Gill Hamilton, the future mayor of Castanet Island. Such a beautiful land deserved to have an accomplished leader.

Yes, those thoughts fit the perfectly dreary atmosphere I currently found myself in. The only distraction from my distraction was the other person on the sidewalk: a man who appeared sorely out of place. Only his back was visible, but that was enough to tell his suit was expensive and shouldn't have been getting rained on. Every minute or so he would pause. It was impossible to tell what he was doing, but the strange, methodical action bothered me.

It was useless to concern myself with matters that were none of my business, so I shook my head and continued as though I wasn't even slightly perturbed. Soon I found I was more preoccupied with the wetness of my shirt than anything else. It clung to my body uncomfortably, so uncomfortably that I wanted nothing more than to get home and pull it off, then maybe take a warm bath afterward.

Less than a second after I noticed I was alone again, I stumbled over something on the ground and dropped my books that I had so carefully managed to keep dry all this time.

"Whoa." A laughing voice from under me pulled me out of my confusion. "Hey, where'd you learn to walk?"

I tried to make out a face in the darkness. "Excuse me," I muttered, bending down to pick up my books when I realized I couldn't see anything. "It's dangerous to block the sidewalk like that, you know."

"You don't recognize me?"

"No, should I?"

He stood up. "I haven't changed that much. Maybe it's the clothes. I clean up pretty nice, huh?"

Something about the way he said that sounded familiar. I blinked at him. This guy looked like Chase. No, it _was _Chase. His hair was completely different. I could tell it had been combed back, but now in the rain it looked like a careless attempt at class. And the suit. Where had he been able to afford such an expensive suit?

"Chase? What are you doing?" I asked.

"Just now? I dropped something." He gave me a weird smile, a sort of half-smirk. "If you mean what I'm doing here, I was working at that fancy restaurant on Fifth."

"_Was_?" I couldn't help but notice he looked different, and it wasn't the hair or the clothes. It was something about the expression on his face and the way he was standing. He didn't flinch in the downpour of rain, even when a drop fell right under his eye.

"Yeah," he said.

Neither of us said anything after that. He pushed the hair out of his face and wiped a hand across his forehead. At first I thought it was rain, but the streak across his palm was colored dark. He dried it hastily on his pants. That suit obviously didn't mean anything to him.

"Are you bleeding?" I asked, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.

"Kind of."

"What happened to you?"

He laughed, but the sound was cheerless. "Ah, it's nothing. I got in a fight. I can't believe it's still raining. You know it's been raining all day? And I got fired... because of the fight. It was raining even then."

It took me a minute to understand him. For one, I couldn't believe that he was here, in the city, and that he actually fought with someone at an elegant restaurant. And the second issue was that, suddenly, he was mumbling; his speech was slow and indistinct. I had to ask him to repeat what he said to be sure.

"A fight. He punched me, so I punched him back." Chase turned around. "Look, it's raining, but it's not even cold. I feel warm, actually. I could stay out here forever, which is good because I don't have my key."

"Are you drunk?"

He stopped, turning back around to face me. "No. I just spent all my money on a chocolate bar. I don't have money to get drunk. My stuff's at the restaurant."

"A chocolate bar?" I asked. "You're bleeding, you just got fired, you're walking out in the rain, and you suddenly crave a chocolate bar?"

"Yeah. _Suddenly _I wanted something to get the taste of blood out of my mouth."

"How long have you been walking around?"

"I don't know," he said. "Do you even care? Why are you asking?"

"You're acting immature, Chase. Getting drunk is ridiculous. If you stay out here any longer, you'll catch pneumonia."

"Good. Then maybe I'll drop dead."

That was it. I couldn't stand to be in the company of such stupidity. I started walking past him. As I passed, I shook my head and said, "Honestly, I thought you'd act more intelligently than this."

For a second it looked like he was going to hit me. I paused, seeing if he would actually do such a thing. But he didn't, and he spun around, saying something about Pepsi. I'd heard of it, but I wasn't sure what it was. Then he was looking at me again.

He deliberately ran his hands through his hair and pulled at it, saying, "I hate the city. I want to burn it down. I can't believe I came back here." Every word was so clearly enunciated I almost wondered how I could've thought he was drunk. Although when he continued, I was once again sure that he was intoxicated. He was yelling about his life, how horrible it was, how he hated the weather, how some guy named Jason should go to hell. I waited for him to stop ranting. Within a few minutes, he stopped, but only because he was losing his voice. Maybe he'd been outside longer than he said he was.

After he closed his mouth, he stared at me, biting his lip. I almost said something. But he left before I could think of anything.

_What was the matter with him?_

The more I considered it, the more curious I became. He didn't smell of alcohol, and besides, I had never seen him drunk before. That's not to say it was impossible. He was certainly acting drunk. Defying every voice in my head that told me to stay out of it, I followed him.

If he did anything stupid, I would feel responsible.

He walked for a long time. It was obvious he had no idea where he was going. Every few minutes he would pause and glance up, wiping the blood and rain from his forehead. Eventually he chose a building and sat down next to it. He didn't even choose one with an overhang. He just sat down in the rain.

That was when I confronted him.

"Chase," I said, exasperated, as I marched up to him. "Honestly, what are you doing? You're going to get sick."

He didn't look surprised to see me. He looked like he didn't care.

"As the future mayor, I can't condone this self-destructive behavior. We may be in the city, but you're still a resident of Castanet. Do you have any money? Can't you get a motel room? Don't you have a friend to stay with tonight or something?"

He stood up, shaking his head.

"What happened?"

"You wouldn't get it. You're acting like you know me, but you don't. Okay? You have no idea who I am. And I don't need your concern."

I was about to tell him that it didn't matter who he was, he was being an idiot, but something made me hesitate. He sounded like me when he had said _I don't need your concern_. I was sure I had used those exact words on someone before as a lie. Knowing this, I had to say something considerate, since nothing else was working.

"After all these years, I really don't know anything about you," I said, "but as your friend, I do know the couch in my living room is probably more suitable for wallowing in self-pity than the dirty sidewalk."

"Friend, huh?" Chase leaned against the wall. "Did you not hear what I just said? Take your offer and shove it."

"My apartment isn't far from here." I was annoyed, so I ended up fumbling when I went to search for the receipt to my library books. After I found it, I tore off the bottom and jotted my address down. "Here, for when you decide to grow up."

"Generous, aren't you?" Nevertheless, he took the paper from me. He would probably throw it away once I turned my back. "I don't know what you think you're doing. You're going to look back on this and realize you spent the whole night out in the rain for nothing."

There was no way I was getting through to him. It was foolish of me to even try. So I walked away and went to minding my own business once again.

* * *

_A/N: Here is chapter one of the promised side story to Caught Clueless. This tells the story of the event Chase told Angela about when they went to the French restaurant in chapter 18. There are going to be a few chapters because I ended up writing 12,000 words. Also I'm really into friendship. I don't even ship people ever. Even AngelaxChase/Gill/Luke I like better as a strictly BFF relationship… but that's not to say anything about the outcome of CC, so don't worry. Angela will find love. But yeah, I just really like the Chase ~ Gill dynamic and how they deny friendship but deep down they're home bros and they try to out-sass each other. It's beautiful._

_Anyway, thank you so much Alisyndrome for the motivation and IslandGirl as always! (I just typed IslandGrill I think I need to stop now.)_

_Reviews are appreciated! Thank you so much! Also the quote at the beginning is from Bill Nye (The Science Guy ;p). I felt like putting that in right after the quote at the beginning would throw off the mood for the whole thing._

_Violet_


	2. I'm Sorry

I was positive I heard a sound. It was almost like a knock on my door, but more muffled and not quite as serious as would be expected, which led me to believe maybe my neighbors were just getting home from a night of partying. But then I remembered Chase and forced myself out of bed. On the off-chance he had decided he wanted a place to sleep, I wasn't going to deny him. That would've been cruel. However, the situation did grate on my nerves—particularly Chase's recklessness, his thoughtless choices. He never dealt with his problems, whatever they were; instead he took action to suppress them.

In the next second, I understood why. Standing there, in clothing drenched from the rain, was a man—no, not more than a kid of eighteen, who had been defeated. His eyes were red from exhaustion, his hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his suit jacket, and his body shivered relentlessly.

I understood. He never tried to confront his past because he knew it would only consume him.

He spoke, but it didn't even sound like him. His voice withered against the sharp, quiet gasps of his lungs fighting to draw in air. "I think I've caught pneumonia," he said, grimacing from the attempt of a smile. "Sorry." He reached out, touching the wall, testing its distance. "This might be an inconvenience. I'm sorry..."

I looked at him, trying to figure out what he meant. "What did you do? What happened?"

"I don't know." He forced his hands through his tangled, wet hair, his face contorting. "It hurts... I just wanted it to stop. And I wanted to apologize to her... my sister. She's not here anymore. And that guy won't leave me alone. I think that I want to kill him, but he deserves to live at least more than I do, so then I think I should kill myself... but I don't know if I can."

"Don't talk like that," I snapped. Then I almost told him he was being too loud, but he wasn't. I could barely hear him. I just wanted him to stop.

"Everything is gone." He put his hand over his mouth, oblivious to what I said. "I don't know what I'm doing. You don't even want me here. I know that. But I thought if you didn't answer the door I would go back to my old house and..." He was holding his forehead now. "You answered the door so I didn't... but maybe I should have. I could... disappear."

"Chase, quit saying things like that. Calm down."

"Calm down?" He recoiled from me, and the look on his face was pure anguish. Everything about him was shaking: his hands, his body, his voice. "Don't tell me that," he choked out. "When your own father hates you so much he'd rather get drunk every night just so he doesn't have to look at you, then tell me what I can do. Or when the only person who cares about you dies right in your arms and there's nothing you can do, then tell me how I should talk." He paused and his eyes focused intensely on mine. "If I could calm down, do you think I would be making a fool of myself on purpose?"

My heart was pounding. Every word he threw at me felt like a slap in the face. Is that what he had been keeping to himself? Why was I just standing there? Why couldn't I say anything?

"Can't you convince me there's still fun in messing around some more?" he asked. "At least so I last another day. You're smart enough to do that, aren't you? What else can I screw up?"

I opened my mouth. _I'm sorry. I didn't know. _My voice, I found, refused to speak a single word.

"You can't tell me?" He had calmed down a little, but that just made it worse. _Say something, say something, anything. _"Then why did you open the door? Can you tell me that?"

_I can't._

Chase stood there, waiting for an answer. He was patient. He was patient because he honestly wanted to know what I would say. For some reason I couldn't speak. All I could do was look at him. I was beginning to remember things I had never given a second thought.

"_Why do you have that scar?"_

"_You mean this?" He brushed a hand across his stomach. "I got my appendix taken out."_

"_Did it hurt?"_

"_Not really."_

I stared at his blood-stained suit.

"_Chase is upstairs, you can go ahead."_

"_It's okay. Just tell him we don't have homework today."_

"_Why don't you? He doesn't have many friends."_

_I went upstairs, and what was he doing...? Standing in front of the mirror like that?_

"_Hey, are you crying?"_

"_What? No," he said. When he turned around, he smiled. "I'll be at school tomorrow."_

Staring at his blood-stained suit, I knew there was a scar underneath. All I could see was the kid who stood in front of the mirror, holding his shirt up, with tears in his eyes.

In front of me, I could sense something strange. Chase wasn't trembling anymore. In fact, he was falling.

"Hey!" I grabbed for his shirt to try to keep him from hitting the ground. "Hey, don't pass out. Come on." I awkwardly pulled his arm over my shoulder, staggering a bit when his weight slumped against my side.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "This is really... an inconvenience, huh? I'm just so tired..."

I glanced down the hallway. No one was there. I thought of my father at that moment and the mantra he used to repeat to me every day. _Do everything for the sake of others._

_Even this?_ I wanted to ask.

"It's all right," I said. I tried to move, but he wasn't cooperating enough to make any progress. "Stand up at least. Can you stand? Chase?"

I shook him a little, but he wasn't even holding his head up anymore. If I let him go, he would collapse in a heap on the floor.

"Seriously, Chase." I adjusted the grip I had on his arm, trying to keep upright with him hanging off my shoulder. "Stay awake for a little longer."

But he had already passed out, and I was left with the task of struggling to get him inside. I was sure he would have bruises on his wrist from where my fingers dug into his skin. His clothes were wet and cold, almost like he was doused with ice water.

After pulling him inside, I got him to the couch and looked at him for the first time in proper lighting. His skin was bluish and pale, and there was blood on the corner of his mouth and his forehead. The injuries seemed minor so I didn't concern myself with them yet, but the cold was a problem. I knew I couldn't ignore it.

First I turned on the space heater, hoping it would warm up the living room a few degrees. Then I pulled off his jacket, which was heavy with water. I unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it off also. He wasn't moving at all. Nothing. Not even a twitch.

I never intended to violate his privacy, nor did I want to, but the raised, white scar cutting his stomach in half was impossible to overlook. It was strange, but I suddenly wanted to ask if getting that scar hurt worse than holding someone as they died. Maybe it felt the same. Maybe that was why he had cried looking at it.

I knew I had to remove his pants. The awkwardness didn't bother me so much—it was necessary to keep his body temperature from dropping—but somehow it made me feel apologetic. I wanted to apologize for having to do this, but yet there was also a part of me that blamed him for _making_ me do this.

A second later, when I saw that he was wearing boxers under his dress pants, I almost laughed. "Classy," I mumbled. "For once I appreciate the casual attire."

Honestly though, I didn't know what I was expecting. This was Chase. If he'd really changed that much to wear briefs just because he had nice pants on, I might've had to reevaluate everything I'd ever known.

The living room was beginning to warm up, but I went to the hall closet to retrieve some blankets anyway. I grabbed a pillow too.

When I returned, he still hadn't moved. I shook his shoulder lightly. Nothing. I sighed, spreading the blankets over him. Then I sat on the edge of the coffee table, trying to think of what I should do. Was I supposed to call an ambulance? Was it even that serious? He looked exhausted; maybe all he needed was sleep.

At least, that's what I hoped.

It was late, but I couldn't go to bed yet. I felt weird, like I had stepped into a parallel universe. I didn't even understand anything he said or what happened or why he was panicking.

Above all, though, I was stuck on the thought that Chase came to me. He trusted that I would help him. It wasn't a spontaneous decision; he hadn't decided out of nowhere to seek my help. He thought I could do it. If he didn't think I could, he wouldn't have come at all. That's why he gave me a chance and hadn't thrown away my address. And I was realizing, slowly, that this wasn't merely a situational thought. That was how he viewed me: as someone who could help others. And all this time, if he—if anyone—had so much as frowned, I became irritated. I thought he exaggerated for show, relished his despondency, and entertained with sarcasm. That was wrong. _I _was wrong. And what about everyone else? When Luke cried over his mother's passing, somehow I thought he didn't have a right to grieve so openly. I thought he was seeking attention, since that's how he was with everything else.

Why? Had I ever stopped to wonder why?

Maybe he _needed_ attention. Even though he was the friendliest child in our class, maybe he didn't feel like he had any friends. Maybe he was lonely. Chase acted like he hated everything. But maybe that was because he was afraid everything would be taken from him. Then I wondered how I had presented myself. I pretended not to care. I acted like I was better than everyone.

How opposite the truth was to the reality I tried to present.

For perhaps the first time ever, I felt like a failure. I had been missing the most important element of life, the key to grasping any success. I didn't have to understand everything, but I had to realize that I didn't understand. I had to realize that people acted in certain ways because of their past hurts, frustrations, and joys. I had to realize the world was not concrete, rather it was relative to perception.

To me, the world was a place to be enjoyed, to be protected, to be brought to its potential. To Chase, maybe the world was not a place, but demanded to be perceived as the personification of an enemy. A bully. A thief. A disease.

I didn't know if what I was feeling was sympathy or pity. Neither really suited me. I got up to turn the space heater off. As I entered the hallway, Chase sighed audibly, almost like a quiet moan, and I realized it was the first sign of life he had shown since he passed out. I never thought I would admit this, but it actually made me feel relieved.

Lying in bed, I stared at the light patterns on my ceiling from the city outside.

_Sleep, ignorant of pain, sleep, ignorant of grief._

_May you come to us blowing softly._

Those words repeated over and over in my mind. I didn't know where they came from, only that I had read them somewhere before. I liked the way they sounded, so I kept saying them, whispering them in the dark, until they became true.

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_A/N: I hope you liked it!_

_I don't have much to say here other than a few things I would like to clear up. The title isn't from the song by A Great Big World (as much as I like it c: ) it's purely coincidental. Also, I know someone is bound to ask me, so I would like to clarify that this is not going to be BL, shounen ai, yaoi, or any of the other terms it's called. I can't control how you interpret it, but I ask you to take the shipping goggles off. Just this once. Actually it's fun, so you might do it more? Suppress the inner fangirl and enjoy platonic relationships? Or not? It's up to you of course u_u I don't know, I'm sorry hahfslj_

_Anyway, thank you very much for reading! Reviews are appreciated!_

_~ Violet_


	3. I'm Fine

_A/N: I don't really want to give anything away, but I thought I should have a warning in case someone is sensitive about reading certain things like mentions of suicide or drugs. And also an offensive word is used. (Lol I feel like I'm five years old warning people about a no-no word in a fic but I just didn't want to shock you all, since I don't usually use that kind of language. I think Chase said 'hell' in the last chapter, though. Oops. Okay. Please enjoy.)_

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When I woke in the morning, my first thought was to wonder why the sun was so intense. Not in general—I wasn't fit for such thoughts so early—but rather, why the light had burned on my eyelids until I couldn't bear it any longer. The clock showed that I had slept in until half past eleven, which provided an explanation for the sun's enthusiasm. The memory of last night resurfaced slowly, demanding every detail to be recalled slow and deliberately. Then I remembered Chase and forced myself out of bed once again.

He wasn't awake. It didn't look like he had moved much.

I went into the kitchen. Since it was already lunchtime, I forfeited my usual cereal with fruit and began making a sandwich instead. I didn't make one for Chase. It would've been a waste of time; he probably wouldn't have liked it anyway.

I ate my sandwich at the dining table, chewing carefully and thinking about what I was supposed to do that day. Nothing important. Actually, nothing at all. It was Sunday. As I ate, I flipped through the books from the library. I found it difficult to focus on the words. There was nothing particularly weighing on my mind, but I felt distracted, as though there was something else I should've been doing. This feeling plagued me until I stood and started pulling out the bread for another sandwich.

When I took it out to him, I noticed that his clothes were still in a damp pile on the floor. That careless mistake of mine probably ruined the carpet. I left the sandwich on the coffee table and gathered up the heap to throw into the laundry room. Halfway there, a strange rattling noise from the coat pocket stopped me.

I reached inside to check. When my fingers touched the cold plastic of a bottle, I froze. A terrible thought jolted through my mind like electricity, and I cursed at him to silence the sudden panic.

A memory of the night before surfaced: Chase walking ahead of me, pausing every minute—pausing to put a pill in his mouth. How many times? I cursed again. _How many did he take?_

Blindly, I walked to the table and poured them out. As I counted, everything became a blur of pink and white. That's all it was. Pink and white and pink and white. Each pill was half pink and half white, but I started counting each color separately and had to start over. Forty. There were forty capsules scattered across the table in front of me. The bottle originally had forty-eight.

In that instant, I realized what it felt like to be friends with someone. I was terrified. This meant I had failed. I had failed so pathetically, and I couldn't even apologize. Compared to this, my words before were empty. "As your friend…" I had told him. Now all I could think was: _As your friend, I stayed silent when you asked for help. As your friend, I let you kill yourself._

"You can't die." All this time I hadn't dared to look up. "You can't do this—"

The phone rang. It took a second to process the sound and realize I wasn't watching everything from somewhere else; that I was here, and I let this happen.

I answered the phone, not even recognizing my own voice.

"Gill? It's Elli. I wanted to ask you something." She paused for a response. "Hello? Is now a bad time?"

"I don't know what to do," I blurted. "I need you to come over."

"You what?"

"Chase. It's Chase. Last night, I ran into him. He was upset. I—I didn't know. I thought he passed out from exhaustion, but I just found these pills. I didn't know it was like that. But you're a nurse; you can help."

"Is he there? Did you call an ambulance?"

"He's here," I said. "No, I didn't know until a few minutes ago. I should've realized it sooner. I can't believe this…"

"It's okay," she said earnestly. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

_An ambulance_, I thought. I couldn't call because I was afraid. What if—? _What if—?_

* * *

The longer I waited, the more cowardly I felt. Chase was lying on the couch across from me, maybe asleep, maybe worse. The thought that he was merely sleeping made me feel foolish, to sit here, terrified, when all I had to do was check.

The utter silence engulfing him stopped me. So I sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing the opposite wall, and continued waiting.

"Are you happy?" I asked finally, as I held the bottle in my hand, turning it over and over. "Right now, is this how you want it?"

There was no answer, of course, only an old memory. It was a rainy day I had spent in the classroom, a Sunday all alone. When I was on the brink of falling apart, Chase—of all people—showed up, offering lunch. I hated him for being there, thinking I needed his aid. But he was right; I couldn't face the reality alone. Once he was there, talking to me, I realized why he was being nice to me. My mother was dead.

At that time, my entire body had frozen. The tears hurt my eyes, and my lungs seemed to contract from fear. Chase didn't leave. He stayed with me in that disgusting mess, but unlike me, he wasn't disgusted. I asked him why he stayed. He told me that sometimes you can't leave someone alone because their own thoughts would hurt them. It wasn't a matter of whether they wanted you there or not, it was a matter of whether you would save them or not.

When Elli walked in, she wasted no time with pleasantries. She knelt down next to the couch and opened her medical bag. I watched her take his pulse. As I did, I could clearly, and thankfully, see that he was breathing. I sat on the edge of the coffee table again, dizzy, and looked over her shoulder while she checked the rest of his vitals.

"How much did he take?"

I handed her the bottle I'd been fiddling with for the past half hour. "Eight. It was early this morning when he passed out."

Elli read the label, her lips forming silent calculations. I waited for her to say something, but she never did. The bottle dropped to her lap and rolled onto the floor. She was looking at Chase. Her fingers brushed across the side of his face, right next to his eye.

"Ah, his eyelashes," she whispered. "They're so long."

She took her hand away, and I saw the path where water had traveled through a blood stain and left a near-pristine trail from his eye to the hair covering the rest of his face. I couldn't help but notice it was perfectly straight. The blood stain was newer than last night's, but it was dry.

Most days, we were adults, but some days, we were forced to remember that we were still kids. I was seventeen—admittedly naïve, inexperienced, and unfoundedly arrogant—but Chase, nearly a year older, had already endured the battering of a lifetime. He was forced to grow up and skip out on what it was like to be a child. I hadn't even given it a second thought in the past. It was humbling, almost mortifying, to witness how desperately he wanted a normal life. The things I took for granted. He merely wanted a family. A mother to care for him, a father who would be proud of him, and a sister he could look out for. A place to belong.

"Just shy of an overdose… The medicine knocked him out; that's for sure," Elli said. "He should wake up soon, but he probably won't be feeling well. He was lucky these aren't very potent." She placed her hand over his forehead. "Mm, he's warm."

She went down the hall to the bathroom and returned a few seconds later with a wet cloth. After cleaning the blood off, she bandaged the cut on his forehead. It bled more than I would've thought for its size. With Chase's wellbeing established, we stood in awkward silence until I finally asked, "Do you think he was… trying to…"

But I was unable to finish the sentence.

She knew what I was going to say. Instead of answering, though, she suggested that we go into the kitchen. Once we were sitting at the dining table, she asked what happened. I told her about last night. I told her everything he said to me.

"When you heard all those things, what did you say?"

"Nothing. It wouldn't have mattered."

She nodded in a way that made me think she didn't agree. I didn't even agree with myself, but it was too late to regret that now.

"What should I have said?"

"Well," she began, "I think you're right. Nothing would've helped at the time. But you can still say something to him later. Maybe something he's never heard before... I would tell him that everything is going to be fine, and that it's okay to forgive yourself for past mistakes. And I would tell him the truth."

"That's the kind of thing _you_ would say. But… the truth? I'm not used to this kind of thing. It would be helpful if you clearly explained what you mean."

"You know better than I do." Elli smiled. "I like Chase. He's a good person, don't you think? I hope you stay friends."

"Hmm? Friends? When you meet him, you'll understand that's easier said than done," I said. "Chase… he's…" Everything I thought of—_apathetic, cynical, misanthropic—_didn't feel right to say in this situation. I wasn't even sure I believed all of it anymore. "His sense of humor is different than most. He's sarcastic. He says it feels like a cliché to laugh just because other people are laughing."

"Oh?" Elli giggled. "I see how he is."

I glanced at the clock. "Is your little brother okay?"

"I'm having my friend look after him. I want to make sure everything is fine before I leave."

After that, we sat in silence. Time crawled past. Neither of us knew what to say. I grabbed a book from the table and opened it, halfheartedly scanning the pages. Elli did the same. Then, when about ten minutes had gone by, she asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You seem tense."

"I'm not—" There was a noise outside the door of the kitchen. Or at least, I thought there was.

She smiled. "You're not tense?"

"No." I stood up, leaning into the table with my palms. "You didn't see him. He was scared. He was scaring _me_. Chase could've killed himself. _That _close. He was _that _close to ending everything."

"It's okay now," she said. "He's okay."

"I know. But…" I shook my head. _But what if he's angry with me? What if he had taken only a few more?_

I was losing my resolve to voice my concerns, so I sat down again. The door opened before I had a chance to say anything else. Chase stood, blinking at me, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I had forgotten; he didn't have any clothes to change into.

He covered his mouth as horror flashed across his face.

"Are you all right?" Elli asked, moving toward him. I stood up.

He slowly took his hand away and swallowed, nodding.

"Chase, do you have any idea—" I stopped myself. Of course he did. He knew better than anyone what he had done. I pushed the door open. "Here, I'll get some clothes for you. Your others were completely soaked. That sandwich on the table is for you, by the way."

He didn't say anything.

"How are you?" Elli asked. He barely shrugged in response, nothing more than a twitch of his shoulder. "I was just returning Gill's glasses. He left them at the library. How silly, huh?" She smiled. "You know… you have really nice eyes."

Chase attempted a half-smile. He looked miserable and sick.

I went down the hallway, but I could still hear Elli's voice. She was saying the most normal things, acting like they were acquaintances. Chase never said anything back. As I sifted through my closet for the only pair of sweat pants I owned, I heard someone enter the room behind me.

"I might be doing more harm than good," Elli whispered. She hovered by the door. "I think he's embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?"

She nodded, solemn. "I want to help. I mean, he's okay now. He just seems sad… and think about how embarrassing this is. He's just woken up and he has no clothes. That's why I lied. I didn't want him to think I was here because of him."

Her expression was of utter despair. I almost wanted to laugh, but she was right. Even Chase could get embarrassed over a situation like this.

"I don't think I should stick around," she said. "It's already getting late… make sure he rests for tonight. Give him some crackers or bread or something, but nothing too heavy. And water. All right?"

I nodded, waving her off. I didn't want to mother him.

When I returned to the living room, I saw he was sitting on the couch and the sandwich was still untouched. He slipped the clothes on wordlessly, albeit a little awkwardly since we were watching him.

Elli must have realized this because she spun around and grabbed her bag in a hurry. "It was nice to meet you, Chase. Take care of yourself."

He made a noise of recognition, pressing his hand against his mouth again.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked after she closed the door.

He nodded. Then he coughed and attempted to speak through his hand. "The… bathroom..."

"Ah! Yes, first door on the left."

Chase walked slowly toward the hallway, keeping his hand clasped over his mouth the whole time. He didn't even shut the door before he began coughing. In the next moment I could hear him retching and vomiting into the toilet. It seemed like he was doing that for hours, but when I checked the clock it had only been fifteen minutes. And then it was quiet.

I remained sitting on the couch, waiting. He never came back out. It worried me enough to get up and see if he was okay. When I reached the bathroom doorway, I still wasn't sure. He was lying on the floor with an arm across his eyes. He was breathing heavily, and there was fresh blood smeared from the corner of his mouth across his cheek.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

His voice was so raw and scratchy I almost didn't understand him. "Not the hospital."

"Are you going to vomit again? If not, it's better to lie on the couch than the floor. It's probably dirty."

He didn't answer right away. When he lowered his arm, his eyes were half-closed, staring up at me. "Don't you just want me to leave?"

"Yeah," I said, "when you're feeling better. I send you off right now and you'll die. No exaggeration. You're an actual mess."

Chase pushed himself to a sitting position against the wall and looked down at his hands.

"Is that blood?" I asked.

He touched the corner of his mouth gingerly. "Yeah."

"Get cleaned up. You can rest again after you have something to eat."

Once I was in the kitchen, I filled a glass with water and pulled a few slices of fresh, plain bread from the pantry. I couldn't help but imagine what would've happened to him if he hadn't come here. It was almost horrifying to imagine how many more pills he would've taken, how sick he would've been, or if he would've ever woken up.

_No, _I reminded myself. _It's fine now._

I took the bread and water out to the living room where Chase was already sitting dazedly on the couch. He stared at me, or rather, through me, as I held the glass out in front of him.

"Here."

He sighed and brought a hand up to his forehead. With his other hand he grabbed the glass and asked, "Was I unconscious for a long time?"

"Yeah," I said. "I don't think your body wanted to face this."

Chase smirked. "Smart. My stomach is burning, or being ripped apart, I can't tell which. It's horrible… my lungs burn, my throat burns. I'm…"

"I'm sorry."

"Huh? For what?"

I swallowed. "Nothing… I don't have a reason."

"Oh. You know… I can't remember what I said last night," he muttered. "That's embarrassing. If you're apologizing because I said something strange, don't. It probably didn't mean anything."

"No, Chase, you meant everything. And that's not why I apologized." That was a lie. He had asked me to help him find motivation for living, but I had said nothing.

"So what are you apologizing for?"

"The bruises… on your wrist."

He looked down, flexing his hand, eyeing the black and blue spot on his wrist. "I didn't even notice…"

"But you're right. Last night, I didn't say anything when you asked me to," I said. "So now I'm telling you… don't ever do anything like that again."

"Ohh," he drawled breathily. "You actually thought that?"

"What?"

"That I shouldn't die. Is that true?"

"What are you saying? Why do you think you deserve this?" I watched him pull his bread into pieces. "You said something last night about your sister. You wanted to apologize to her. Something happened, right?"

"Yeah… but that isn't…" he trailed off. I raised my eyebrows, prompting him to continue. "That isn't the only thing… I mean…" He looked down. "Do you really want to hear this?"

"Yes."

He pressed his lips together. It was difficult to read his expression. "Well, I guess it started the day my sister was born. I got to leave school early to meet her. That's the last day I remember feeling happy. My class signed a card for her. _Welcome to the world. _Isn't that stupid? She couldn't even read." He made an irritated noise. "Nice thought, I guess. Anyway, when I got in the car with my dad, I knew something was wrong, but he wouldn't tell me anything."

"At the hospital, I found out that my mom was dying. She refused to talk to me until I was holding my sister. She wanted me to see how beautiful she was. I tried… but I couldn't see it. She was just a baby, you know? There wasn't anything special about her. But I agreed, for my mom's sake, and said she was cute." Chase started fiddling with a loose string on the blanket. He was mumbling most of his words. "My mom was beginning to slip away, but she kept repeating the same thing: 'Promise me, Chase. Promise you'll look after her.' That's the last thing she said before she fell asleep… for... forever."

I wasn't sure what to say. It was unexpected how he actually started talking—from the beginning too—but at the same time, it wasn't. It was like he knew I wanted to ask, and he saved me the trouble. These were things he had probably never shared with anyone. But now he had stopped. "What else?" I asked.

He looked at me, his eyes widening slightly. "Huh?"

"I asked you to tell me what else." When his expression didn't change, I said, "I want to know. Look, Chase, I watched you have a breakdown outside my door. The whole time you were passed out on my couch I spent wondering when – or _if _– you were going to wake up. I counted every single pill in that bottle to make sure you didn't overdose. Now I want to know why. Keep talking."

"You… what…?"

"I'm not going to repeat it."

He looked genuinely surprised and suspicious. But eventually he went back to pulling his bread apart. "I didn't care for Ally at first. It's funny… from the time she could talk… one of her first words was my name. She always looked up to me. She clung to me, literally, and followed me around all the time. I started to like her. I mean, she was the only person who liked _me._ I don't believe in that… natural love thing… that family should automatically love each other. So that's why I thought it was nice how she liked me. I hated everything else. It's stupid; I know what my dad would say right now if he heard me talking like this. It's hard not to think about."

"Say whatever you want," I said. "I don't care how you talk. Right now, at least. Everything's a little strange today."

His smile lasted less than a second. "I know. That's why I'm telling you. You're probably the only one, you know? Everyone else has a label for me. I've been the orphan, fag, stupid, loser, sometimes even stupid loser as one term." He raised his eyebrows as if the insult was particularly impressive. "I especially loved the vague title of '_that _kid'. The way other kids said it made it sound worse than the rest. Even my dad hated me. _What kind of self-respecting man likes cooking?_ _Why couldn't I try harder to be more like him?_ I think that's the one thing that keeps me from hating myself completely: I'm not like him. I may be everything else terrible, but at least I'm better than him." Chase stuck a piece of bread in his mouth. "He was awful. He yelled at Ally all the time and blamed her for my mom's death. Everything was her fault." He stopped talking abruptly. "Sorry, this is getting kind of—"

"It's not."

"No," he whispered. Then he shook his head and his words came out harshly, full of disgust. "No, I sound like… some schmuck or something. I'm sorry to make you listen to this. Just so you know, my dad never hit me or anything like that."

I tried to smile at his word choice, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. "Don't apologize. I should've... I don't know… when we were younger, I pretended not to notice. I'm the one who's sorry."

"It doesn't matter. I'll just finish. When I was eleven, twelve, whatever, I took my sister and ran away from the orphanage. Then I left her alone, trapped in the bathroom, and a fire started and burned down our house. I tried to keep that promise to my mom; really I tried to save her. Almost. I was so close. I had her in my arms. And she was still breathing. The firemen were there; one was standing on a ladder outside the window. I couldn't see or breathe, and I was bleeding from the glass that cut into my stomach. I thought I was dying. It would've been fine if I died while saving her. Up until the last second, I thought that's what would happen. Once I gave her to the fireman I was sure I had suffocated or bled to death. When I woke up in the hospital, I learned the opposite was true. And when I gave her body to the fireman, that's all it was. Her body."

Again, I didn't know what to say. All I could think about was the scene he described. I never imagined anything like that happening to him. Or to anybody.

"Maybe it would be easier to move on if I didn't relive the whole experience every night. It's not like I want to… I wish I could erase those memories. But I can't. I'm always wondering if death is special. Is it a privilege for the ones who don't deserve it?" He gave up on eating, and instead slumped into the cushion. "That's what I'm starting to think. I'm dead inside, yet I can't stop living. I couldn't even… I couldn't…"

"Chase." I leaned toward him without realizing it, suddenly angry at nothing. I knew I had to say something; I prayed that whatever came out of my mouth actually made sense. "If your sister could talk to you right now, what do you think she would say? That she's grateful for the misery you put yourself through? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? She would want you to be happy. Right? Is that right, Chase?"

"I don't know."

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out. If she loved you, she would forgive you. She would want you to move on. She wouldn't want to see you waste your life being depressed over the past. If you love her, why are you doing these things she would hate?"

"I don't know," he repeated. Still, it wasn't enough. I had to say something that would get through to him.

"If you keep on like this, it means you love hurting yourself more than you love her. You did your best. Stop trying to live in a world that doesn't exist anymore."

His face twisted up in pain, almost like I had punched him, and with a shaky hand, he pushed the hair back from his forehead. "Oh god."

"Chase—"

"Quit saying my name," he said sharply. "I know. I _know _you're right. Do you have any idea how pathetic I feel right now?"

No. I hadn't realized he felt pathetic. I was too preoccupied with searching for the right words to make him feel better, not worse.

"You shouldn't have talked so much." After I said it, I knew it was a stupid thing to point out. Thankfully he didn't seem to get offended. He didn't seem to be paying attention at all.

"When I say things, sometimes I don't mean them," he said, staring at the floor through half-lidded eyes. "Like earlier… I made it sound like I was trying to kill myself. I wasn't." Chase looked over at me and smiled self-deprecatingly, but the rest of his face was distraught. "You don't believe me, but it was an accident. I didn't know what I was doing."

I stayed silent for a few moments. Then I stood and glanced at the bread he had mauled. "You should finish eating."

Silence.

"I'm going out for a while. Do you need anything?"

"No. Are you kidding?" Chase glared at me, shoving the rest of the bread in his mouth. "No. How could you say all that with a straight face anyway?"

I shook my head and grabbed a jacket. "See you in an hour."

* * *

_A/N: Hahhh young, introspective Gill… don't worry darling, you'll grow into your arrogance. ;w; I actually don't know what to say here. I love writing friendship dynamics between people where romance won't suddenly swoop in and cheat readers out of witnessing actual character development. Not that romance is bad! I like it! Sometimes that happens in fanfics, though. Like, there'll be a high-tension moment and the characters kiss and suddenly everything is forgotten. : Maybe kiss after the tension is resolved? I don't know, man, I'm just writing through my stream of consciousness here in the author's note._

_I'm starting to miss Angela… I'm going to update CC next. Sometimes I think... hmm... does CC need more "longing gazes" and "hands intertwined through the bond of love"? But that wouldn't be fitting with the story. I wanted write about friendships based on support and admiration and loyalty! Not lust or romance. Of course… there will be romance later on… bUT ANYWAY SORRY FOR RAMBLING I WILL STOP NOW_

_Hopefully you liked it? Please review if you can! Thank you so much!_

_Violet_


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